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Monthly Archives: January 2015

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Today has been really hard, no particular reason that today or this morning was worse than any other morning. Didn’t sleep well as usual, sat and thought all night about Williams last night before he died, was he in pain? Did he struggle for breath? Could he cry out? The longer I lay there in the silence during the night the more these questions penetrate. By the time this morning came around I felt total despair.

I sat in Williams room crying as the day started, cuddling his reindeer, blaming myself for him not being here, feeling guilty for not taking him to hospital, thinking if I’d been a better mum would he still be here? I know all of these things are untrue, I was reassured and advised by doctors we were doing the right thing, and I know that I was the best mum to him, he knew that and I know that from the complete happiness he displayed in everything he did, how he loved, how he laughed, how he grew and how he learnt.

All of my thoughts and feelings are so overwhelming, completely over powering. I don’t know how other parents may feel after they’ve lost a child so needlessly? But I can’t help but feel feelings of blame or guilt, completely unfounded and misguided but it’s natural instinct to protect your child, and my child died so therefore I feel like I failed.

I feel so alone because no one understands these feelings or the reasoning, perhaps because there is none, but they haven’t experienced this, so how can they know how I feel? They try, but how can they understand it if I don’t?

It seems hard to believe that I sit here and it has already been 35 days since I lost my little boy. Do those 35 days mean I am coping? Do those 35 days mean I am ‘getting through’? To me each one of those 35 days has been a tortuous journey, a lifetime. People say to you ‘baby steps’, ‘take one day at a time’. But it doesn’t mean anything. There are no steps forwards, perhaps sideways, but at least not backwards.

I don’t have a choice but to exist each day through a haze of tears, exhaustion, confusion and questioning. Why am I here? Why is Wiliam dead? Why him? Why didn’t any of the doctors do anything? Why isn’t it me? Some questions may get answered at the inquest into his death, but nothing will bring him back. Nothing will re – write history. I will never be able to cradle my little boy again, rock him to sleep, cover his face in kisses, or get lost in his deep brown eyes.

People say to you that you have so many lovely memories, a plethora of photos and videos, some with his little laugh. But they’re not William, they’re not tangible, William should be here.